I grumble, “So far karma has been nothing but angelic to the horrible witch.”
Conrad’s mysterious smile grows. “Sometimes karma is sneaky,” he says, leaning in close to me. Mmmm.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but his closeness and dreamy smile makes my heart turn to mush.
However, these sudden baffling spastic feelings bubbling inside me make me remember the last time we were together—and the way I’d longed and fantasized about him afterwards … and how he didn’t notice me all week at school.
Sad, sad wake-up call.
Return to reality, January.
I sigh, realizing he probably only promised to be my best friend because I’d looked so lonely and pathetic sitting on a swing, looking ready to cry. He probably only said it to cheer me up.
I peek up at him.
He stares back at me a moment, then smiles with a quizzical laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why did you say you would be my best friend? I mean, you hardly know me.”
“Yeah, but I’m new. I hardly know anybody … and you’re the only person here that I’ve wanted to get to know.” He adds with a little grin, “Plus, that first time we met was pretty amazing.”
My heart does this little dance. “Yeah … it was, huh?”
I feel so happy it’s ridiculous. So happy that I need to come down, which is most likely why there is this warning voice niggling in my head, struggling to keep me from exploding into confetti. It keeps demanding: Return to reality, January. Return to reality!
Without even realizing that I was going to say anything, I blurt out accusingly, “Guys only want one thing from girls.”
WHY did I say that?!
“What?” Conrad asks, tilting his head.
I’m not even sure. But my older sister is always saying it. (She’s in college.) I shrug, but I can tell Conrad is like, holding his breath, waiting for my answer, so I take a stab at it—after all, I have a little experience with what boys “want” now—thanks to Rene’s yucky brother. (Cringe.) “They—they want to kiss and stuff.”
Conrad slowly draws out his breath. Super slowly. Then slowly he shakes his head. “Not me—I mean, I won’t be like that. We’ll just be friends. Like, play video games and ride bikes and stuff.” He says softly, “Friend stuff.”
“Okay. Awesome!” I want to hug him … but resist. Though I would hug a friend. Still I don’t hug him, because we’d just laid down groundwork. I don’t want to trample on it. Or seem like I’m trampling on it, anyway. So, instead I hold out my hand, like we’re making a deal. (It’s almost as good as a contract—I guess.)
With a smile, Conrad takes it—my outstretched hand. He shakes it, accepting it—the glorious deal. His warm hand and smile give me goosebumps. (This is quite possibly the best moment of my life.)
My heart is all fluttery and happy. A best friend—yay! And it’s a boy! A cute boy! Take that, Rene! She’ll be jealous and so will all her snobby friends on the flag-team.
Happiness!!
“Okay, so let’s ride bikes,” I tell Conrad as soon as we’re done sealing the deal with our (awesome) handshake.
He shrugs. “Okay, or we could swing a while first, then ride bikes. We can do it all—since we’re best friends.”
He says the words like he knows how excited I am by the prospect. Probably he does, since I’m all smiles.
“Okay,” I whisper in this awed/thrilled sort of reverence.
“Okay,” he says with a pleased smile.
So, just like that we became best friends.
CHAPTER 3
The day after making the best friend agreement with Conrad, I still wasn’t altogether sure it was true. I mean, that he was going to really, truly be my best friend. I mean, yes, we’d had an amazing day yesterday, jokingly calling each other “best friend” as we did our various best friend activities: we had a jumping from the swings contest, then rode our bikes, then went to his house and sipped root beer floats while we listened to music and played video games. It had been a glorious day. But did he really mean it? Were we really going to be best friends?
I was starting to get the sinking feeling that we weren’t.
By lunchtime I had pretty much deduced it was just a (super lucky) one-day thing. I’d somehow miraculously caught him yesterday when he was alone with nothing to do, and he’d taken pity on me since I was looking so sad, so he took it upon himself to cheer me up, and kept up with his effort the whole, entire day. But now the day was over. Sigh.
Sadly, this new day, my “best friend” was back to not noticing me.
Well, that’s what I thought.
But then I found him waiting for me in the cafeteria when I got there. Well, it looked like he was waiting for me. He had his tray of food, and his eyes lit up when he saw me. It really, really looked as though he’d been standing there, waiting for me. But I couldn’t really be sure because I was all dizzy from the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, and the way his smile was so gorgeous as it grew on his face at the sight of me. (Yay!)
Then he said it, the magic words, “I was waiting for you.”
He said it with a quizzical tilt of his head as I practically sprang into confetti from this information.
He went on delighting me, with even more breathtaking information, “I got you lunch too—it’s on my tray. The lunch lady probably thinks I’m a pig.”
His eyes quickly scan the crowded cafeteria, then dart back to me. “I wasn’t sure where you want to sit—I don’t ever see you at school.” (That’s because he’s too popular and mobbed with people.) He goes on, “I look for you—but I never see you.”
Happiness!!
Sabrina waves her pom-poms at Conrad and invites him to eat with her.
“Nah, I’m going to eat with my best friend,” he says, gesturing at me with a playful smile. (Our inside joke—ha!)
Sabrina gives me a scowl (well, a dismissive glance), then she tells Conrad, “’kay, your loss.”
When Conrad’s hockey friends call him over to their rowdy table as we’re passing them in search of the perfect spot, Conrad gives them the same answer he gave Sabrina, “I’m gonna sit with my best friend.”
The hockey team razzes him, “Already got a girlfriend?”
He corrects with a smile, “Uh, no. She’s my best friend, January.”
“We know January,” they tell him.
(Probably because Rene has told them I clogged her toilets with my huge dumps.) (Groan.)
Conrad promptly takes my elbow and nudges me away from his teammates. “Well, we’re going to go eat,” he tells them, “—alone.”
“Have fun!” they call after him making kissy noises, but hey, at least it’s not toilet noises. So, I’m happy. Ecstatic even. Especially because he wants us to eat alone! (Yippy!)
“Sorry,” he says when we’re out of earshot from his friends. “They’re rowdy—but nice, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t,” I lie.
“No?” He raises his eyebrows, “You looked a little scared.”
I don’t know what to say to this, but my heart sinks a little as it sinks in that’s why he led me away from his friends so fast. It wasn’t that he wanted to be alone with me, it was that he thought I was afraid of them.
He smiles, “Don’t worry, okay? I guess the hockey team has a reputation for being tough—but that’s only on the ice and to the other team.” He leans towards me sort of and informs me, “We’re big, but not scary.” His smile twitches, “—unless you’re on the other team.”
I smile, “Good to know.”
He tugs playfully on my hair. “You, on the other hand, are small and hard to see.” He says whimsically, “—even when a guy looks for you all day in the school halls.”
“Yeah, I’m a tiny ninja,” I tell him.
He laughs, “Cool. My best friend is a ninja.”
“You really did look for me?” I ask skeptically, kind of holding my breath a little.
“I thought maybe you didn’t mean it—the best friend thing.”
He scrunches up his brow. “You keep saying that.”
It’s because my sister was forever saying that “Guys can’t be ‘friends’ with girls.” And: “Boys only want one thing.” Also, face it: he’s super popular. Why would he want to be my best friend?—I’m small and hard to see.
“Let’s sign a contract,” I tell him impishly, joking—you know, because who does that?—signs a contract to be best friends? But secretly I’m wishing, wishing, wishing. I go on with a smile, “Then I’ll believe it, because I’ll have it in writing—you’ll be, you know, committed.”
“Fine,” he says with a laugh. “Give me a contract, I’ll sign anything for you. I won’t even negotiate the terms—unless they’re really bad. Like, I have to eat worms with you, or listen to Cindy Pop.”
I bust out laughing. “Aw, no Cindy Pop?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Non-negotiable.”
“Wow, you drive a hard bargain.”
“I know right, little ninja?” he says, playfully tugging on a strand of my hair. Mmmm.
Do I really want a best friend contract? At this moment, I’d much rather have a boyfriend contract. Muuuuch rather.
But we both whimsically sign a quickly whipped up contract we write on a school napkin that we dub: Best Friend Contract.
So, sigh.
CHAPTER 4
A few days after becoming Conrad’s coveted best friend I inform him, “Rene has a crush on you.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “And Rene is … ?”
“The horrible girl that tried to pimp me out to her creepy brother. She’s super jealous that you’re my best friend, and now she’s suddenly trying to be my friend again—so she can meet you.”
Conrad gives me a quizzical look. “Do you want to be her friend again?”
“No! I want her to fall in a toilet and drown,” I inform him. “She was totally awful to me— until you adopted me.”
He’s eating a banana. He wiggles it at me. “I have a plan.”
“Involving toilets?”
With amusement, he smirks. “No, but you seem to have an obsession with toilets.”
I burst out an embarrassingly loud laugh. “I don’t, it’s just her, you know, saying she ‘dumped’ me because of my dumps.”
He smiles. “I know. It’s funny,” he tells me. “You’re funny.”
He says it like I’m awesome.
I rip my gaze away from his, and dart it to his rough beautiful boy-hands, since I can’t look into his beautiful boy eyes—that are staring at me. It’s turning me into a spaz, and making me weak in the knees. I plop down next to him. “So, what’s your plan?—teach me karate?”
He grins slightly. “I thought you don’t want to beat her up.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I do. But what else ya got?”
“Patience, best friend.”
***
This morning, the doorbell rings as I’m gathering my books for school. When I get to the front door, no one is there.
“Spooky,” I murmur, a chill going through me.
But then I notice something has been left on my front doorstep. Something with a big red bow taped to it. Interestingly, it’s a school newspaper. I blink at it, then blink again. Then shrug and pick it up.
Curiously, I look through it, wondering if it was left at the wrong house. I mean, why would anyone leave me the school paper? But then—oh! I read the headline and almost collapse.
My jaw falls open as I read: “Our school’s head flag-girl Rene Rollings, broke her leg last night.”
But the part that makes me almost do a face-plant is when I read how it happened: She slipped on a banana peel.
CHAPTER 5
As soon as I get to school, I hunt up Conrad. I find him in the band room, working on a song. He does a double-take when he sees me and slowly puts down his guitar. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Conrad, she slipped on a banana peel.”
He nods. “Right, I heard. That’s pretty funny, huh? Like in cartoons, the bad guy always slips on a banana peel.”
“Was it your banana peel Conrad?”
He scratches his chin mischievously. “Hm, could be—my mom does give me a lot of bananas. They’re high in potassium. Also, everyone knows, a banana peel and an evil villain equals a broken leg. It’s cartoon karma.”
“So, you were exacting karma?”
“No, of course not. You can’t exact karma. I just … helped it along. You know, in case it wanted to do something.”
I lean against the wall, biting my lip. “How did this helping karma come about?”
“Well, I had a banana peel, and I had an evil villain’s address. I just went to it and knocked on the door, then let fate handle it. Well okay, I might have also left the evil villain a text telling her I needed her to come to the corner really quick because I wanted to kiss her. But I promise I didn’t know she was going to run that fast—or break her leg. That was karma.”
“You told her you would kiss her?”
“Well, I figured if karma didn’t do its job, then I would. I would get her all worked up for my glorious kiss, then I’d tell her I changed my mind. I’d tell her, ‘Nah, I decided to kiss January instead.”
I ignite in flames from his playful words, yet all I say (quite chill and sardonic, actually), “Ah, that would have been way less dramatic … and violent.”
He grins mildly, “Yet more mean—her not getting my kiss. That might even have put her in a worse condition than a broken leg. A broken heart.” He raises his eyebrows. “She might have died from disappointment.”
I smirk dryly, “So, karma was being kind.”
“Right,” he says. “Good ol’ karma.”
I sigh, “Conrad, I don’t want you to go around getting into trouble on my account.” I add quickly, “—and I definitely don’t want you to hurt people for me.”
He runs his fingers through my hair and says softly, “I seriously didn’t mean for her to break her leg. Seriously. I just thought she’d slip a little and it would be funny—and, okay, I was hoping to get a picture of it for the school paper—so the caption could read: Head flag-girl slips on a banana peel. It seemed funny—in my head. Anyway, that was my plan—but karma had other plans, apparently.”
I coax, “But you really didn’t know she’d get hurt … right?”
He ducks his head, “Well, now—looking back—my conscience is like: Come on, you had to see that coming. Haven’t you seen any cartoons, like ever? Banana peel on doorstep equals broken leg.”
He sighs. “But no, at the time I wasn’t expecting that. I swear.”
I bite my lip, not knowing exactly how to handle this. “I know you were trying to be a good friend—”
“Best friend,” he says.
“Right, okay.” I can’t help feeling elated by his sweet emphasis, yet I go on earnestly, “But best friend, next time let karma do its own job.”
He sighs. “If you insist.”
“I really do.” I nudge him. “I don’t want you to get arrested. Then what would I do? A best friend isn’t very useful in jail—I’d be all lonely.”
Around an adorable smile, he grumbles, “Okay, I’ll stay out of jail—for you.”
“I mean it,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, “but the really big news was on page seven. Did you read that?”
I squint at him, then quickly grab the paper and turn to page seven.
Then my jaw drops.
And the breath whooshes out of me.
I stare at the paper in a daze.
Because page seven announces who our school’s new flag-captain will be while Rene recuperates. It’s—oh my gosh—it’s ME!
“Congratulations,” Conrad tells me with an adorably pleased smile.
Oh. My. Gosh!!!
CHAPTER 6
The flag-
captain thing wasn’t the only thing Conrad helped me get. When he learned I couldn’t go on a school trip to Washington D.C. with him due to my non-super-duper-stellar grades (they’re okay—just not otherworldly like his), anyway, when he found out I wasn’t part of the academically elite crowd that was offered the trip, Conrad found a way to get me on the list. “It says the class president can go,” he pointed out.
I tilted my head. “So?”
“So, run for president.”
He said it matter-of-factly, like the only reason I wasn’t president of our class was because I didn’t think to run.
“Um, that’s your world, Conrad. Not mine.”
He cocked an eyebrow, “Speak English.”
“I’m not a hot popular hockey player where I just decide to do something, and then—poof! I snap my fingers and presto, my dream instantly comes true.”
He smiled. “I’m hot?”
My face ignited. Oh man. I scoffed, “Really? That’s what you got out of everything I just said?”
“Well, it was the most interesting part. Look, I’ll help you, okay? I’ll be your campaign manager.”
I rolled my eyes. “Knock yourself out.”
But THEN he took me seriously, and the task seriously, and he knocked himself out working on my hopeless campaign. Not that I expected to win, not even with his diligent sweet help. There was no way I was going to be class president. No. Friggin.’ Possible. Way.
But THEN a miraculous thing happened. I got sick on the day of the voting; the day I was supposed to give my big speech to the whole eighth grade class about why they should vote for me (a nobody) for class president. But since I was sick, Conrad gave my speech for me.
That’s how I won—Conrad’s awesome speech. And, basically, Conrad himself.
However, I did end up getting to go to Washington DC. So score!
Thank you flu-bug. Thank you very, very much.
The Boyfriend Contract Page 2